Rosie and the Velvet Bullet is not your typical love story, though it has the makings of a perfect modern day version of West Side Story with a bluesy hip hop soundtrack. She's a white chick from Brooklyn and he's a mulatto kid from Oakland. Their union could put an end to the coastal beef and reignite the controversial joyous laughter of Lucy and Desi, breaking boundaries and conformities with a raw musical flavor that is part vintage, part "the future." But this is not your typical love story because it's not a love story. In fact...(or shall we say fiction) they are not a couple, they are not in love but they are completely crazy about each other. Mr. Velvet rolled up on his Schwinn bicycle and dapper attire, discovering Rosie on the Venice beach hippie strip, playing her 5 string broken down telecaster out of an old shitty amp. She was dressed like a pin-up girl without the pins holding her together. A wild, loose canon of the mouth, saying whatever she felt like and singing like her soul had been choked for centuries and was now unleashing its fire on all who passed her by. Mr. Velvet got burned and offered her a bed and a beat to rest on. Rosie had been living out of a suitcase for the past 3 years, hustling the streets and piecing together her heart with each city and song. As cliche as it sounds, Rosie wanted to be rescued from her solo life on the road and Mr. Velvet came along with his psychic musical insights, knowing exactly what her fire needed to keep a flame. But she was no Julia Roberts or Eliza Dolittle, there was no need for transformation or etiquette training. Mr. Velvet saw the beauty in her feminine beast and Rosie saw the delicacy in his strength.